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I was just telling Lin how I had lost all control of my storytelling. My memories push and shove each other out of the way to get to the front of the line and recognition. Maybe that’s why they come out in no particular order. And they don’t fight fair. Two or more weaker ones will gang up on a powerful memory and force it down further into the pack. And sometimes after telling a few story’s, I have to take a break or it becomes droll. Like cleansing your pallet with a cracker between glasses at a wine tasting. Without the cracker, it all starts to taste the same.

I don’t know what my story will be about tonight. But, after my wife goes to bed I will get my pad and pen and I will remember. Where I will go I don’t know ahead of time. Sometimes I will start the first line and then go off on another tangent. Sometimes the memories are coming so fast it hurts my fingers and wrist. I get a headache from squinting in the lamp light but won’t slow down to rub my eyes. I might lose that slipstream of thought.